Sailing Through Genoa’s Past

The Mediterranean sun filtered through the shutters, coaxing me awake after yesterday’s long day exploring Tuscany. It was a late start, but the view from my apartment window of elegant buildings, lush green Mediterranean pines, and a bright, clear sky set the tone for another day immersed in Genoa’s charm.

My first stop was a charity shop, a habit I'd picked up at home, where my wife and I enjoy hunting for bargains. Expecting Italian treasures, I mostly found the same old junk we get back there; however, the shelves overflowed with one item above all else: the trusty Italian moka pot! Disappointed by the lack of bargains, I craved the sea’s openness and headed toward Spiaggia di Punta Vagno to see the beach and coastline beyond the port. The small stretch of sand, flanked by a busy road and car park, wasn’t picturesque, and with the hum of traffic drowning out the sea’s call, I didn’t stay long, turning back towards the city within a few minutes.

I wandered near Brignole station, then drifted onto Via S. Vincenzo, a lovely, wide pedestrianised shopping street, where the store facades blended faded elegance with lively bustle. I let my nose lead, getting lost on purpose to rediscover Genoa’s rhythm, but this unplanned path led me back to Focacceria Fossatello, where I savoured a hybrid of an English sausage roll and an American hot dog; this consisted of a warm and savoury pastry roll with a sausage poking out of each end—genius. This was followed by a slice of focaccia topped with sun-dried tomatoes, basil, oregano, and stracchino cheese. Both were delicious.

With my belly full, I returned to Porto Antico and stopped at Caffè Il Gelato for an Illy ice-cream coffee, a treat from past visits I was keen to relive. This creamy, coffee-infused delight, stronger than the standard gelato and served in a cup—just about liquid enough to drink—was wonderfully refreshing, and a perfect pit stop before exploring the maritime museum.

The Galata Museo del Mare is a tribute to Genoa’s seafaring past, from its days as a maritime republic in the 11th to 14th centuries, when it ruled Mediterranean trade, its ships laden with silk, spices, and riches, to the modern day, where its ships are now more likely to be laden with overweight tourists and consumer goods. The museum, opened in 2004 in the historic Darsena district, showcases this legacy with model boats, replica sailing ships, and artefacts spanning centuries. The highlight for me was the exhibit on Italian emigration to America in the late 1800s, where over four million Italians, driven by poverty and opportunity, sailed from ports like Genoa between 1880 and 1910. The display featuring personal letters, photographs, and a recreated steerage cabin hit close to home, echoing my own leap to start a new life in foreign lands all those years ago.

I also climbed to the museum’s rooftop, which offered sweeping views of the port, where cranes and ships stood motionless against the glimmering sea, a fusion of industry and beauty. Upon leaving the museum, I wandered through the caruggi, where the ancient alleyways and streets of the city buzzed with life, then up Via Balbi towards Genoa’s second train station, Piazza Principe, passing Hotel Balbi and Hotel Bellevue in the process, both places I’d stayed on previous occasions. The memories of those trips came flooding back as they joined a thread linking past and present explorations. Back at Porto Antico, I settled at La Golletta bar once again to enjoy an Aperol Spritz and watch the sunset as Kauris IV gleamed nearby.

I returned to the apartment to freshen up, then ventured out for the evening. Genoa by night was enchanting, with cathedral spires piercing the sky, Piazza De Ferrari’s fountain sparkling, and Porto Antico’s lights dancing on the water. I stopped at Monte di Noè on Via San Lorenzo for a döner kebab; I rarely eat one at home but find them much nicer in Europe, the meat less greasy, with better texture and more flavour, the pita softer and fluffier with just the right amount of salad and dressing. Eating on the cathedral steps, watching Genoa’s nightlife unfold, felt more my style than a solo restaurant meal.

For dessert, there was only one thing for it—gelato from GROM, one of my favourites.

As I reached my apartment, a beep on my phone confirmed I’d broken my daily step count record, clocking 30,239 steps or 13.29 miles walked through this wonderful city. Exhausted but exhilarated, I knew Genoa still had plenty more secrets to share.

To continue reading, head to: Chapter 6: Racing to Monaco